floor burns
by netflixanduchiha
Summary: young little girls aren't supposed to know so much of the wicked, and yet she was never a young little girl to begin with. [reincarnated oc!; not a self insert]
1. samsara

Title: Floor Burns

Story Context: This story takes place about 13 years before the original HXH timeline of the Hunter exam begins. Please use your imagination!

Summary: young little girls aren't supposed know so much of the wicked, and yet, she was never a young little girl to begin with.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Yoshihiro Togashi except for my oc, Sakiko.

* * *

i.

サムサラ

samsara

* * *

Staring at the wall, her hands glide across the smooth texture, occasionally running over rough bumps and jagged edges. It's so quiet in the room, the curtains fully covering the windows, securing the fact that there's no escape. The golden hue of a bulb is the only light that blankets the room and it flickers once. And then again, but this time the yellow incandescent completely shuts down, and black shadows envelop the room. _There is no coincidence. The bulb had burned out, but wasn't it replaced yesterday?_

(She doesn't know how long she's been in this room.)

But if there's one thing she's sure of, it's that she's not supposed to be alive. She is not supposed to exist. But somehow she has made it, creating herself in a world that does not need her. She was born out of lust and desperation. Now she lives in the haze of sinking relief and immediate sadness. She doesn't really know why, but that's okay.

Her father is absent as always, but he does not leave her alone for too long, because he knows she can't survive without him. She can't do anything for herself, and it frustrates her to no end. Too many questions and not enough answers when she thinks about this situation.

Never staying in one area for too long, it's too much for her when they're constantly moving from a hotel room to the other. He's not fit to be a father, but he is one. _Mistakes_ , she muses, _will always be compensated._

He's tall and muscularly built, and his narrow cheeks and sensual eyes can break many hearts. A prodigy in everything he puts his mind to. Essentially he has the potential to be the best in anything he desires. It's just too bad that he's not a man with good morals. His strange clothing matches him perfectly too, peculiar and eerily playful. She doesn't understand the way he acts, or the way he thinks, but she still cares about him all the same.

Sometimes he will come home in the middle of the night giggling manically with eyes full of satisfaction and deceit. Those nights he has a metallic smell of dirt and something else she doesn't know. Those nights he ignores her, and that's probably for the best, as it makes her tremble, scared. Even when her stomach is twisting with hunger and starving for water, or when she soils herself and her diaper is filled uncomfortably, she's quiet in fear that he'll do something to her. She doesn't want to know what that smell is every time he comes home. (It's blood.)

He calls himself Hisoka.

And Sakiko doesn't have a mother. She doesn't understand how she knows what that is, but it's not like that matters. (Dazedly she thinks of a stern and kind woman with dyed curly hair and scowling lips turning into a hidden smile.)

But she only has an absent father, and herself. It's not so bad now that she's able to wander around and take care of herself somewhat, but there are those moments where her father stares at her emptily and his gaze feels menacing. It's as if he's looking at an extraterrestrial being, and maybe he is. He's always telling her how a six month year old shouldn't be able to walk.

At the same time though, he's intrigued and she knows it. The way he grins when she surpasses each milestone is too wide and his eyes shift is too fast. He is her father though, so she doesn't mind. He may be a little odd, but then again, he's all she has.

One night, Hisoka—her father brings a girl to the hotel room and her body is shaking with contempt and true terror. Though he doesn't really spare her any glance, and instead looks at Sakiko adoringly. Her chest twists and her fingers tremble under the heavy gaze. It's not a nice look.

"This woman is going to be your caregiver from now on until I say so." Her father breathes in softly, unfazed by the prospect of another being taking care of his child. He leaves after nodding to both the girls and disappears as quick as he comes.

So the young child nods, curious by the new change. She stares intently at the young lady, who is probably in her teenage years, maybe even around her father's age. Her natural brown hair is long and wispy down to her waist. It's a great change compared to Hisoka, whose hair is dyed a neon pink and slicks unnaturally back. Her unblemished fair skin and light brown eyes hold an act of modesty and full tenderness that Sakiko's never seen before. However it's apparent that she is full of anxiousness and nerves, which makes the little baby frown in confusion.

"Hello caregiver. Name?" She asks with the limited amount of words she knows. The woman laughs a little bit too loud, and sweat is starting to form on her face.

"M-My name is Shurui Abaki. What's yours?" She smiles gently as she bends down to the girl's height. Sakiko proudly displays her full name as Sakiko Morrow, and leads her to her room, which is currently the corner of a hotel bedroom. Shurui Abaki asks her a few questions more, like why are they in a hotel room, where was her mother? But Sakiko doesn't know how to answer her without revealing her dad's red side. (The side where he can't stop laughing with red streaking his palms). So she shrugs absentmindedly and grabs the girl and pushes her knees down, hinting for the girl to sit down with her.

"Why are we in the corner, Sakiko?" The older girl asks openly, staring at the room before her. It's not too small for three people, with a queen size bed in the center, a small lounge chair to the right side of the bed, and the nightstand in the other. In its own simplistic way, it is satisfactory. Sakiko smiles.

"This is my sleeping spot!" She giggles softly and proceeds to lay down with a large blanket toppling most of her body. The rug-covered ground is rough and scratchy, but it's her space, so it's okay. Several seconds pass by, and only silence is returned. When she looks at Shurui Abaki expertly, she stares back at her uneasily. She looks surprised and kind of angry, but she says nothing. The little girl shifts back up uncomfortably.

She whispers quietly, cowering from the fear that she has done something wrong, "Uhm, Shurui Abaki, what's wrong?" And the older girl says nothing, only analyzing her features before sighing, and places her hands on the girl's shoulders. Sakiko gasps at the sudden contact.

"You can just call me Miss Abaki. Do you want me to get you a pillow?" She laughs real happily, and saunters off to the phone dialing the hotel's room service number and humming a slow tune. Dazedly, the little girl stares at her, awkwardly returning the grin.

* * *

•••

* * *

Compared to her father, it almost too easy to see through Miss Abaki facade, and after a few weeks, she knows every curve of it.

She is very distant and terribly so, but Sakiko is excited to finally see a girl in her life. She's pretty too, so it's nice to look at her features when she doesn't notice. The brunette always has her guard up and never leaves the room, just like her. It's almost as if she's waiting for something, but nothing ever happens. It's quite alarming, but this is in fact okay.

The little girl always pesters Miss Abaki about the outside world. "What's it like?" she squeals, and the young woman stares at her weirdly, before retelling the same old phrase: "It's nothing special."

Stumped, the younger one squints her eyes annoyed and goes off to the corner of the bed to stare at the wall while Miss Abaki cooks dinner. They don't really have groceries, but she somehow makes it work everytime, food of deliciousness. It's surely a big step from her father's sad excuse of leftovers.

Slowly but surely, Sakiko manages to chip away the walls built in the older woman's heart, and she starts to smile more and actually laugh. Other than her father, Miss Abaki has begun to be the only other human contact that Sakiko encountered. So she's become kind of like family, motherly and not too boring to be around.

The beautiful lady speaks bits and pieces of another language, one that is very familiar. It's my mother-tongue, Miss Abaki would say. But in the little girl's heart, this language brought memories of something else. It bothers her that she doesn't know what it is.

It is English, a faint voice whispers in the back of her mind, and her chest starts to hurt.

Naturally, Sakiko asks Miss Abaki to teach her the language, and she half-heartedly complies.

At first denial is to be expected but the little girl is surprisingly stubborn, using every excuse she knows. Apparently Miss Abaki doesn't mind or doesn't question it because she laughs it off and smiles.

"It's a mix of different languages all together basically," The brunette explained while folding her baby clothes, "It will not be easy."

She shakes her head in disagreement, but stays silent as she takes out her paper and pen. It can not be as hard as learning Japanese, she thought.

"Okay. To start off, let's learn how to count..."

(Wai duz thes sem famelear?)

Abaki gave her lessons everyday. It was grueling and sometimes too much for her brain to comprehend as more memories began to evade her mind, from her former life.

It's been a long time, the soft voice lingers in the depths of her mind.

(Why does this seem familiar?)

She remembers how she had two other siblings, and parents who adored them. She remembers how she was wealthy enough to live in a very nice house and go to private school in her early childhood years. And she remembers that she is not actually a little girl, but a teenager.

* * *

•••

* * *

And it doesn't take long for the pale toddler to finally learn the language.

Sakiko is now three. Her stomach churns in distaste but she ignores the sadness in her body and smiles bitterly. What are birthday parties, and birthday cakes? How is this even possible?

The night terrors of her death replays again and again, but she never remembers them. Despite the cold chills and sweat drenching her back, she wants to remember it.

"Why can't I remember it?" She sobs as Miss Abaki holds her tightly. The tears don't stop until hours after she wakes up, and Hisoka hasn't showed up in days.

(Why is she even remembering in the first place?)

Her angelic voice is soothing and brings peace in every way possible. Her lullaby, her voice—everything about Miss Abaki is gentle, and Sakiko feels so grateful. She's glad that she has something more than intrigued stares and cold eyes taking care of her. But the older woman never gets any sleep, and the guilt always gnaws at her heart everytime she sees her dozing off.

But then Sakiko sees a man in the dark, warm room. He's not her father, but he is tall and wears weird clothes like him. His blank cold stare lingers to Miss Abaki, but it's mostly directed at the little girl.

Who are you? She asks quietly, but her voice doesn't waver and she's left staring back at the cold tall man in the dark warm room.

"Who are you?" He says back, stepping into her corner space as she gasps. There's a circular round thing acting as his tummy, and that long wispy mustache underneath his curving smile.

"How did you do that?" She whispers, but then he laughs out loud at her face and holds his mustache smiling.

"You can't hide thoughts from Time." His voice is high and scolding, but at the same time it's funny and she can't help but giggle at him.

Her eyes flicker to the lines and sharp corners at the edges of the circle moving with the rhythmic 'click', "What is that thing on your tummy?"

He stares at her weirdly before twirling around and pointing at his thing in shock, "Do you not know what this is? It's a clock!"

"What's a clo—"

"Oh my goodness how stupid can a person actually be? A clock is a way to keep track of time. It's my stomach in case you didn't know."

"Why?"

"Well..."

And suddenly she's made a friend with a man with a clock as a stomach and it's not so lonely anymore.

But it's strange how Abaki never sees him and she cowers in the bathroom hiding when Sakiko starts talking to Mr. Time. What is she so afraid of? It's not like he's scary.

* * *

•••

* * *

Every time Sakiko's father comes back, It's always the same.

He will come back from his long absences, smelling of sweat, soap or blood of whoever was his latest kill. No matter if it's been a week or a day, he'll always return with his bubbly self. His skin might be paler than normal, or it might be riddled with cuts and bruises, temporarily concealed by his clothes. He might even be wearing some new fashion style he's fallen in love with. The two girls are ever so quiet everytime he barges through the door that a pin is a knife colliding with the floor.

He smirks as always and snatches the girl from Miss Abaki's clutches, and she yelps in terror. Sakiko stays there frozen but lets him do what he wants, and he locks the door of the hotel room again. He says something to the older woman, and her face is more pale than normal. She slowly treads to the bathroom door, and the only thing she hears is a loud click, while Hisoka sighs contently.

He'll always be here for the same reasons.

He'll introduce himself back into the little girl's life with a smile and a wave, as if coming back from a hard day's work. Inviting Sakiko to a little get together at the table in the opposite corner of her sleep space, and since there's only one chair so she kneels. Her knees burn.

There he'll treat her to the most expensive thing on the menu—the one where strange people come in, wear the same clothes, and shakily supply them food—and later he'll give a souvenir he'd stolen for her. And she'll oh, and ah at it, and actually appreciate it, not just saying thanks to avoid looking ungrateful. She's not aloud to look beyond the hotel room.

From then on the conversation will start. He'll tell Sakiko about his 'work'. He'll show her the pictures on his phones of the people he's meant to assassinate, but instead he plays with until they're dead. He'll show her the pictures of him traveling the area in his free time. Show her the adventures he's had, painting the tales with his vivid words and sparkling recollections, with photos of his dead opponents as recounting proof.

Then he'll tell her about his latest conquests in bed if any, and she'll try not to grimace and feel sick by his words, and at the men and women who had spent intimate moments with him. But the little girl will always listen intently to everything he says, because he is the beacon to the outside world. She understands that he's only ever had her as a person to speak with. And so she lets him talk.

"I hope one day I'll come with you," Sakiko whispers as she stares at the door behind him.

He rests his elbow on the small round table as he plays with his cards, "Maybe when you're actually strong. I can't let you slow me down, you know." Sakiko stares at him as a tiny bit of anger begins to bubble up. But she quickly shoves those feelings down too ashamed because, what kind of disgusting child is so selfish to her creator?

"Make me stronger then," she shrugs nonchalant. He smiles a little but continues to ignore her for a few minutes. They enjoy the little peace that comes between them and relish in it for awhile longer.

"I won't be able to until you're at least ten," He looks annoyed at that and she can finally understand why. Wasted years on someone who can potentially be his greatest fight in the future. "I'm sure that you'll be able to endure it in this age considering that you are my offspring," he continues, "but Abaki wants you to develop for several more years until I train you."

Abaki? When did he start listening to Miss Abaki? She stares at him weirdly, like he is a strange creature, "Since when did you two become friendly?"

A breeze sweeps past them both and chills find its way to Sakiko, but her father is still as always. He looks towards her in an odd way, as if he finally noticed too, "I guess she's not as dense as I thought."

She twists nastily, and pops form from the spine of her back. The conversation is nearing its end, and Sakiko is drowning in a fit of pique. She doesn't want to stat in this four cornered room. It's boring, so boring, even with Miss Abaki there. She wants to stall him, ask him more about his escapades, do anything for more time to convince—but he's already told her everything, and he won't repeat himself. He'll send her back to her corner in this boring room with a smile on his face as he watches her cry silently.

Her father's not really nice, but, how would she know?

* * *

Update: 02/24/19

OKAY. So... I haven't looked at this story in a loooong time (I think five months? Maybe more?) but I've rewritten some things and the next chapter will be up in a week, I think. Don't quote me on that, it might actually be earlier, so keep your eyes peeled. Anyway I hope you enjoyed this first chapter! MESSAGE ME PRIVATELY TO GIVE ME SOME IDEAS IF YOU'D LIKE? Love you all,

Sister M.


	2. sinful

Summary: young little girls aren't supposed know so much of the wicked, and yet she was never a young little girl to begin with.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Yoshihiro Togashi except for my oc, Sakiko.

* * *

ii.

罪深い

sinful

* * *

One day Miss Abaki tried to run. It was February, Sakiko thinks, when she had been sleeping on the floor, waking up to the sound of silence and no one was there. Her father was gone again, and Mr. Time disappeared as always. But Miss Abaki who always stayed with her when no one did —she _left_ her.

And Sakiko looked everywhere too. She looked under the bed, in each drawer and cabinet in the kitchen, under the round small table even though she knew, Abaki would never fit in there. She even checked in the bathroom toilet and behind that large mirror but, Miss Abaki wasn't there.

The little girl screamed, and she screamed, but no matter how loud or long she did, nothing happened. Not even when she fell to the ground and threw her fists and feet forward and back as if she was hit by a stroke or a heart attack. (She supposes it might have actually been a heart attack, because her heat had never beat with such ferociousness and fear.) Miss Abaki didn't appear even when her voice broke and all that was left was a raspy tone of desperation. Not even when those people with the same old outfits busted into the room, and saw her there alone—in horror. Not even when they took her away and she passed out and all she could hope for was that it was all a bad dream. _Nothing_.

When she awoke, she was no longer in the same room. It was cold and the dried tears on her face made her wince in discomfort, but at least the room was the same. She was in another empty desolate place, but when she looked up—her father was there.

He stares at her with a smile, the same revolting smile with cracked lips and narrowed eyes. His ugly, ugly body moving, edging closer and yet farther, as if he were a never-ending nightmare. She jumps in so much joy and terror and isn't that love? So because Sakiko loves Hisoka, she gets up jolting towards him. However he sidesteps her and pushes her enough that her back hits the cold mattress with a thud and unfortunately—her head against the hard bed frame.

 _"Now, now. Settle down. It's not nice to attack your father before you say hello."_

"Hello... father." Her eyes are full and round and all she can really make out around the colored moving blurs in her eyes is his rage. Something stings, and she isn't sure where.

"Much better." He smiles again, and this time he caresses her cheek with a fingernail, stopping at the edge of her jawline.

"Father," Sakiko chokes out the words, wanting to cry and anyone to hug her, but he deepens his nail embedded in her skin and she winces, "Abaki is gone."

"I know." He whispers, wiping the blood dribbling from her chin, "Go back to sleep Little Miss."

And she did, her eyes closing for who knows how long. The blood dripping from her matted hair made sure of that.

* * *

•••

* * *

Groggily Sakiko wakes up once more, but this time, she hears sobbing. She slowly turns her in the direction of the noise, and walks forward to it, the whining sound coming from the bathroom. That voice, it's so eerily familiar and at the same time it is so strange to hear. Another cry juts out, this time louder and the faint sound of water running in tiny droplets in the shower is heard.

Quietly, Sakiko's tiny hand reaches over to turn the knob and she edges closer to the shower curtain. Pulling it open, there, she sees a woman sitting down hold her knees together shaking as her cries continue. She's in the bathtub, and the water is scalding, spraying everywhere. Sakiko stares at her for a moment, before saying in a breathless sound, "You're back."

Miss Abaki's head whips forward and her eyes shine in wet tears streaming down her cheeks. Her bloodshot eyes and cut up face almost have the same color, a dark red color that reminded her of Hisoka. She wants to ask how she got those bruises and bloody marks. However she doesn't say a word, and maybe it's for the best, but after three—maybe four seconds in to listening in the silent whimpers, Abaki shoots forward and holds Sakiko in her arms sobbing once more.

The water is scalding.

The never ending mantra of apologies and whispering sweet nothings in Sakiko's ear overshadows the hot water spraying over their body, though she can't help but feel cold. For some reason, it's almost as if she's apologizing to someone else but it doesn't matter. She's here and came back.

Sakiko just wants to cry in relief but she can't. (Why can't she cry?) Instead she holds her tightly as if this will make her stay forever, under the seething droplets and wet clothes clashed with naked skin. The anger and utter frustration she felt before is long gone now and it's replaced with forgiving love and relief for the older woman. Relief.

"It's okay."

(And it is okay, because Miss Abaki came back, right?)

* * *

•••

* * *

Mr. Time tells Sakiko it's been five weeks since the escape, and Miss Abaki has become different now.

On her good days, Miss Abaki wallows in misery but she still speaks. On those days, her words are slow and long with a lingering smell of alcohol as she sits under burnished copper walls with Sakiko. Only a couple empty bottles are surrounding them, and this is the only time she talks about everything.

 _"You disgust me."_

Miss Abaki lives in the past, in the golden bygone days of her youth when the heavens were accessible and the future open and the world, while heavy on her shoulders, still utterly beautiful. Then her parents died, and she was left with nothing.

On those good days, Miss Abaki relives the first meal with people who decided she was worth something. Royal Glam Shows and circus tricks, Sakiko learns of Miss Abaki's apprenticeship to the Great Moritonio and how it is turned to ash with the teachings of nen disappeared along with it. She was a circus act.

"What's a circus act?"

 _Laughter_.

This was when her first dream erupts with excitement, to fulfill her Master's dream in becoming a hunter when he failed to do so in shame. Her strength, her resolve, and the youth she portrays makes Sakiko's body ache. Those halcyon days are tainted, and her tears and words always a slur at first with half-remembered happiness when she speaks of the outside world.

 _"You have such an ugly heart."_

But on those good days, Miss Abaki is just empty and broken. She pets Sakiko's hair and braids it, thin hands trembling, and her eyes casting to a different place, reflecting only in Sakiko. In those moments, Sakiko is Miss Abaki's best friend, and she confides everything with equal measures of love and care, her words weaving stories in the sky. In those moments, she loves Sakiko as much as she can still love. And on those good days, Sakiko listens and listens and learns.

Don't _ever_ have a dream or you'll be as good as dead trying to achieve it.

 _"You're going to become just like your father."_

* * *

•••

* * *

But of course Sakiko does not care for this lesson, at first.

Weeks after Miss Abaki's story is told, something within her soul begins to quiver each time Hisoka comes back and for just a moment—she can see something other than the old whining door. A beacon to the outside world. She knows she shouldn't be thinking about this, and maybe she should listen to Miss Abaki's scoldings but she cannot get rid of this feeling that she might be able to see everything in all it's glory.

So off Sakiko devises a plan to leave one night. She'd come back of course, but she just wanted to see what the stars looked like, or the blazing sun she's always heard of.

But hopefully her escape would be during the first early hours of the the day, when everything was dark but it was close to morning. The tricky part however was that she did not know what Time it was or how _he_ worked, because he was a fellow that liked to play games and never be direct with her.

The man with a clock as his torso danced around the room nodding his head at Sakiko's exclamation and she giggled at his antics.

"Will you help me, Mr. Time?" She childishly whispered, as he twirled his arrows on his clock to the direction of the ceiling.

The black-eyed man squinted his eyes at her and with a shrill—"Do not call me Mr. Time! I told you that my name is Janus you stupid, stupid girl. How can anyone do anything for you if you are rude, girl?!" Time's face turns red in frustration as his arrows spin in circles and bounces off the walls. (He never stops moving.)

"Well, you are ruder, stupid man! Maybe if did this one request, I would not call you Mr. Time anymore!" The girl huffed at his words, annoyed.

"Hmm... Stupid girl, you'll have your deal," He laughed at her expression, "but if you do not show respect for me after my gracious assistance, I'll reverse myself and never help you in the first place!"

"What?" She asked aloud in confusuon, but the man vanished right when Miss Abaki walked out of the kitchen with raised eyebrows and narrowed eyes. After a tense moment, she glared

"Stop talking to yourself. It's scaring me." Abaki speaks and half-blinded by feelings she didn't know what to call, Sakiko stumbles to the floor.

But Sakiko is not talking herself, she swears that Mr. Time is real—but the voices in her head—( _I'm talking to you, aren't I?_ )

Her caregiver has become something else. A spiteful soul full of anger and regret. She hates the four cornered room. She hates Hisoka and the way he is able to make her bend to his every will. She hates and hates and hates.

When Miss Abaki looks at Sakiko, looks at the little girl who convinced her to give up so much, and she hates.

(It burns in her gut, a bright flame that should catch everything about her on fire.)

* * *

•••

* * *

It's night, and Mr. Time wakes her with a shrill.

Mind made up, Sakiko found an old satchel in her closet and stuffs it with whatever she can find. A change of clothes, a hairbrush, an empty journal, and a bracelet that belonged to Miss Abaki. Father threw it in the trash shortly after her arrival, and Sakiko was able to salvaged it, keeping it under her pillow on the dirty rug.

She tested her window and found that it opened. Peering out, there was a ledge that allowed her to reach another room. After the sun set and the room was quiet, Sakiko crawled out onto the ledge and pushed open the window just enough to place a letter she wrote on the nightstand. Miss Abaki would see it in the morning and read it to herself. Then she carefully made her way to the other window.

Having been locked within rooms for most of her life and never being let out, she was understandably terrified of this new territory. Sakiko has never been anywhere but here before, the girl shakes in her overly large clothes, found discarded in the lost and found at the hotel.

She's too scared to look now though she does anyway and the view is unimaginable. The sky is better than she could ever think of, with its starry features and moon lit life that glimmers throughout the sleeping city. It is breathtaking, so much so that she can't help but cry from having the opportunity to finally see it and claim it as her own.

She knows now that maybe this is why Miss Abaki is angry. The outside is a drug, a throbbing addiction that cannot be sated nor dulled. You cannot go back. And Sakiko decides that she never wants to go back.

(At least, that night she doesn't.)

* * *

I feel like Miss Abaki is a weird character to write about, because you can clearly see she's a regular human being, like us. You can feel and understand the pain of being locked up from society, and unlike Sakiko, Abaki knows what she's lost. I think that's why she's heading towards a state of insanity, if you didn't already know. It's a heavy chapter, I know, but there is still more to come.

Also if you see any grammatical errors or phrases that seem awkward, do not hesitate to tell me. You can also message me if you'd like to give some plot and storyline ideas. I'd love your feedback. / Though I'd rather you'd tell me privately so we don't disrupt the reviews :) /

Have an amazing month, (because it's gonna take way longer than that for me to update)

Sister Maleine.


	3. scarring

Summary: young little girls aren't supposed know so much of the wicked, and yet she was never a young little girl to begin with.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Yoshihiro Togashi except for my oc, Sakiko.

* * *

iii.

瘢痕

scarring

* * *

For some odd reason, Sakiko sees things that she's not supposed to see. Things like pretty women taking in ugly men, or starving men and people who somehow make others stop living. Mr. Time calls them murderers. She guesses her father is a murderer then.

But when night passes and she sleeps in the crevice of her arm, she sees images and peaceful thoughts float in her head—dreams, but not ordinary ones. Mr. Time says that she's special, so that's why these dreams happen. He says she sees the past, the memories of anyone her head deems worthy.

Right now, as Sakiko sleeps, she sees a little boy who's all skin and bone. His cheeks are all hollow and his yellow eyes are sunk, but he still smiles in that dream. He has a peach in his hand, sitting outside a small shack with green grass and fresh flowers.

Despite the ragged appearance and the sad feeling he has when he thinks about his mother, he has a hopeful expression in his lungs that's trying to squeeze the last bit of envy for those that walk by him without a glance.

He has a heart of gold, she can tell. He is pure and everything that screams holy, but God is not merciful, so bad things have happened to him.

(They will keep happening, until he doesn't care anymore).

Bad things like his mother not being able to teach him how to read the cards before the summer ends, or how he will grow up to hate and to spread this evil among the rest of the world. He'll grow up thinking about the things he has done in order to survive and the things he hasn't.

But for now, she can taste the brisk and sweet juice that the boy chews, and the satisfying slurp of goodness. He's got blue hair that shines in the glowing sun, and an innocent expression that runs across his face. His smile, oh how familiar it is—the curve and happiness that lingers behind it. When he finishes the peach, he throws the pit into the air and promptly catches it, until he grows bored. He's still hungry, though.

Sakiko is too.

* * *

•••

* * *

He finds her five days later under a bridge, shivering from the cold and eating leftovers in the back of a restaurant.

The minute Sakiko notices him, her heart plummets to the bottom of her stomach. Her mouth's suddenly gritty and so very dry, the words of bitterness in her mind shrivels at the thought of Hisoka taking her back to the room.

And so she screams and screams, her limbs moving on their own because even if she'd rather die then go back to that godforsaken room she runs, hoping he'll never catch up. Her lungs burn and squeeze while she's gasping for air, and at this point she's rapidly going anywhere until she stops at a dead end. She's never run so far before, and her body begins to blur but in this alley way, she feels relief from the man that terrifies her.

Then she sees a box with something in it and there she meets a dog, a species she's never seen before, but remembers.

 _(Aren't they a beauty?_ The voices coo.)

She smiles and passes out with a very heavy, _yes, they are_.

* * *

•••

* * *

Sakiko wakes up with bugs on the ground, crawling in her hair and legs and neck. She unconsciously screams, before covering her mouth in shock.

Hisoka, running, gasping, a box, and a puppy. Everything rushes back at once, and she looks back to see the animal still breathing. It looks dead though, she thinks. Her fingers find themselves caressing the small thing, and it careens to her hand. 'Guess everyone looks dead when they're sleeping, right?

An uneasy feelings shoots to the back of her head, and she realizes there's a presence behind her. Her fingers halt and a cold sweat reaches her neck. Hisoka.

He isn't looking at her though, he's looking at the puppy under her hands, and something within her burns. She sweats, bending over the animal.

"Give it to me," he says, irritated by her lack of maturity. A card in his hand, his eyes sharpening unpleasantly. Sakiko whimpers, leaning over the puppy covered in tufts of something resembling sickly fur, unable to move but still breathing.

All malnourished and dirty, nobody bothered to help him. How could people walk idly by, without giving a second's notice to this gift? All alone and yet even when he didn't have the strength to live, he continues to do so. She wants him to be with her forever, and fear plummets when Sakiko realizes that she has never wanted anything more in her life.

"Why are you being persistent?" He narrows his eyes at her reply, "It's going to die of starvation anyway."

She knew that in her heart, there was a possibility that this puppy could die out here, even with her help. She could not bring herself to care, it was just a possibility, just as her own life was. He was a reminder of something in the past thought she didn't know what.

Perhaps that was why she wanted him badly. He was a glorious, divinity that deserved to be able to live and breathe.

(Black and white fur, eyes of earthly shades, kindness in her bones, she's called Luna—)

He begins to get closer to the box, and she realizes he is going to kill it, despite her response. She pushes her body against the box and clutches the sides, covering it completely. Her eyes shut tightly, cries spilling out for the puppy's safety. Hisoka stops moving, staring at her with no expression. She felt him sight and look at her unpleasantly, and still she couldn't move, or rather she wouldn't.

(Luna, a dog with a lion heart, running to and from her, frolicking across a field of daises—).

Using the red magic, he throws her body against the ally's brick wall. She slides downward immediately.

"Listen to what I tell you to do," he said quietly, though she knew he was angry, "If you keep up this disobedient act, I'll kill you too."

She winces at the stinging on her back and her heart writhes as she watches her father pull the tiny puppy out with one hand. She knew he hadn't meant it, but the feeling of dread overwhelms her senses as his card started to flicker. Will he kill him? Will he dare?

(Luna, breathing contently with a tail wagging, waiting for her partner to come home—).

She begins to scream with tears welling down her cheeks, and without thinking, she yells, "If we're going to die anyway, why would you kill us? We can't even fight back!"

She knows her father, she does. From the ferocious cruelty to the sadistic and masochistic tendencies he possesses. All of it, she knows, and for that—they both know he'll never kill something that is not worth the mercy.

He pauses and stares at her with a surprised glance. Sakiko can't breathe properly when he stares at her like that, like she is the most significant thing in the world. Her eyes started become blurry by tears.

(Luna, an animal that will never get to see her partner again until the stars aline for it to be so).

Three minutes pass, both of them looking at each other, one in desperation, and the other without feeling. Finally, he relents and lets go of the animal onto her lap. She's left there, all alone, and the chuckle that he gives out sends her into a cold sweat, "Fine you'll have your little pet. But if you dare come back, don't expect Miss Abaki to hold you hand."

A murderer. He's a murderer.

(But what if there were people who could somehow make others live again? Sakiko asks Mr. Time).

(Those don't exist, Sakiko, he whispers knowingly, not yet.)

In the back of her mind, she knows that her father would be furious enough to do something to her if she went back to the hotel, but she would worry about that later. Right now, all she can notice is the relief and happiness swelling in her chest, a grin so wide that her cheeks start to cramp. It hurts terribly, but she didn't seem to mind.

She finally has something to care for and love.

And for five grueling months, Sakiko nurtures the puppy, and instead of being dangerously starved and on the midst of death, a layer of fat covers his body, and healthy fur coats his skin abundantly. Despite having very slim chances in surviving, his unabating nature to live fueled his success, and the girl cannot be any happier.

The little puppy still does not have a name, but she still adored the animal all the same. He yapped and ran all around her, as if calling her to follow him, and she did so gladly, as he was her beacon of light.

She sighs in fake annoyance as amusement filters her body. The puppy barks again and whines, causing Sakiko to coo at his expression. It takes her awhile to think of what to call him, though she has found one quite fitting for the handsome little critter.

Lune. That would be his name.

(Befitting, it would seem. Your soul still remembers her, the voices cry.)

* * *

•••

* * *

Sakiko has become fascinated by the stars.

Ever since she was a baby, she gazed up at the ceiling with Miss Abaki, enraptured by the pretend galaxies and night sky. Now that she see them in real life though, it reminds her of the stories her caregiver would tell her. Stories about the world, and all the things that Sakiko has never seen. Things like animals, oceans, warriors, and ice cream.

They reminded her of soft memories that would be cherished forever under the twinkling lights, of a life of ease before her father took that all away in an instant. She's too scared to come back to that room, so she'll most likely never see her again. It aches.

The weight of the everlasting fear and isolation from the world and the idea of survival had fallen onto her shoulders. The life of the only person who loved her is somewhere else, a place she never wants to go back to. Yet Sakiko knows that it's better this way. Now she won't be distracted by white lies of a future with love and beauty. This however doesn't stop the yearning of something more than living to prove her worth. The stars reminded the little girl of happier, gentler times.

(Dried tears and trembling lips, Sakiko thinks that maybe star-gazing will always be the one thing she shares with her past.)

Sitting against the roots of a large oak tree whose highest branches seemed to brush against the swath of light high above her, Sakiko smiled. It was during these brief times that she was able to have a reprieve. A short break in her life, where she could let everything go and enjoy the beauty of the night sky. And tonight was one such night.

Sakiko laid out upon the grass behind her home, gazing up at the stars above. Her hands were folded beneath her head, Lune resting a short distance away as she could feel the softness of the grass between her toes. The music of spring played all around her, the toads, crickets, and owls singing their soothing songs just for her. The gentle sound of the wind rhythmically passing through with it's wisps deep and fully, periodically breaking the quiet night time melody with the swaying of trees.

A small smile pulled at her lips, her eyes alight as she watched the flickering stars drift across the sky with the turning of the earth beneath her.

A smooth, elegant voice resonates inside the forest. Calling out to her with faux kindness, her father appears, "Sakiko~"

She freezes.

* * *

•••

* * *

The first time it happens, Sakiko thinks it's a one-off, and is sore from it for days. Hisoka doesn't notice, or at least pretends not to. She whimpers and doesn't even bother to cover the bruises that paint all over her body. Dry, brown blood crusts into her skin, and every time her muscles flex she crumples. When he comes to wake her up in the morning, he brings snacks and dog food for Lune, and she instantly withers at his kind gesture. He tells her that it's to make her stronger, and they leave it at that and forget about it.

The second time it happens, she's spread out on the dirt path again under Hisoka's fist, her arms tensed up cradling her chest, her body curled into a fetal position. Her skin finally breaks from the forceful hits and blood is dripping from her body. He's taking her apart in a way that Sakiko would never understand. She doesn't go anywhere that night but there's an extra bounce to her father's steps and an extra lift in his shoulders. She doesn't say a word.

The third time it happens—Sakiko swears it's going to be the last time, because this is insane—she's run into Hisoka in the street, and he looks at her and she looks at him, and it's all she can do to keep herself from throwing herself away from him there in the sparse area.

He gives her a two nods and walks to the usual place he does it. Dread swells in her chest but her feet are moving on their own and they're racing back to the field. Finally he's hitting her again, and her shirt rips, but she lets him finish. Lune is whimpering and crying, but Sakiko glares at him to stop, and they both know why. She can't lose him, and if she has to bare the ferocious attacks once in a while, it is worth it. The next months pass by like this, and the relentless injuries don't stop.

It's not like he's enjoying this. She can tell from the faraway daze in his eyes, and with every punch and kick, he closes his eyes. He looks as if he's remembering something, but Sakiko doesn't know what. Where is the blue boy with sweet peaches in his hands? Where is this innocent golden boy?

(Instead there's an empty shell of that boy, and a monster lurking in his fists).

Sakiko wakes to a familiar pain. Her head hung down to her chest because the muscles in her neck were too weak and too stiff to keep upright. Her skin caked in dried blood grime, and the itching prickled somewhere she couldn't quite reach. She was half convinced it would come off with the dirt if she scratched at it.

(Her body aches and she wonders,

This isn't because of Lune.)

* * *

So Sakiko's profound (but not really) power is revealed. Hisoka is a really tough character to write about, because he you never know what he's up to or why he does the things he does. I do not think that even I can explain it, oof.

Love you all,

Sister Maleine.


	4. sad

Summary: young little girls aren't supposed know so much of the wicked, and yet she was never a young little girl to begin with.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Yoshihiro Togashi except for my oc, Sakiko.

* * *

iv.

悲しい

sad

* * *

At an early age, Sakiko is taught that life is precious. That the animals who run through the trees or deserts or snow filled tundras have something to contribute in life. World round grass and rich brown dirt are important, because they make trees grow. Animals need those, you know.

(Miss Abaki never says anything about humans.)

The little girl doesn't know how long it's been since the time she ran away from the closed room, but she does know that from the sweltering heat of summer is long gone. Now fairy lights and happy bell music enveloped the streets. It is lively in these streets, and people seem to have fun all the time.

But it's really cold. A white, powdery substance that instantly burns and withers at the slightest touch—called snow—surrounds everything. It's beautiful and majestic in every way, though she's seen what it can do. It's toxic, it's secretly evil. Maybe not inheritly so, but the countless of people who sleep and never wake up Can contest to that. It's like a drug, or a poison of sorts.

Lune and Sakiko huddle next to each other on two flat cardboard boxes with their blankets wrapped around them. It's snowing. Always is, in December. But she is struggling financially. That's an always-is, too. But now there are consequences. Sakiko's body shakes. She can feel Lune's shaking, too, from where he's pressed into her side. He doesn't deserve this. Though her tears do nothing but sting her cheeks, her face numb from the freezing cold.

Many people begin to realize that she's a helpless girl that no one will save, but there's no pity. There is no compassion, because as long as their loved ones are okay, nothing else matters. Humans are selfish like that.

She begins to pray when night rolls around because she knows what happens to children who play outside a bit too late. There's no moon that glimmers over the town tonight, and it's much more bleaker than she remembers. The street lights are the only things that brighten the surroundings, with reminiscent yellows and an orange dim, and the stacks of white snow cover every inch of the street in all its glory. If there's a god, there must be a devil. And she's not too sure which one she's praying to.

She sees a man pass by the alleyway, and she holds her breath and hopes she is invisible from reality and nobody can see or hurt her. Sadly she doesn't disappear, and the man slowly cranes his head to her and he smiles.

She has never seen a man grin like that. The expression smeared in his eyes now is sinister than any faux smile could ever be. Looking at it isn't like looking at the sun but like being burned by the fires of hell and, inevitably, she has to look away. The way he looked right then made her want to gag because It wasn't happiness in his eyes. It was lust.

It's a revolting and loathsome feeling she holds as she watches him glance across her small frame, and up to her face. A scary thought comes to her head, one of muffled screams and cries and it ends with her on the ground sticky and lifeless but barely breathing, and him leaving triumphantly.

She doesn't like the aimed foot that steps in her direction, and she tenses. He slowly walks over to her and his hands are no longer in his pocket. He's holding a knife. Her heart is throbbing and beating heavily in chest and she stands up, alerted by the way he smirks lecherously. What unsettles her even more is that he never speaks, as if he knows how this will end already, and her pale lips tremble. He leans in too close and the proximity allows her to smells his foul breath, and the sinking feeling becomes stronger. He's not intoxicated, he's completely and utterly sober.

His hand barely touches her when an ear-splitting scream reaches her throat, and it echoes off the walls and he holds his head in pain. It gives her enough time to kick him between the legs and her hand wraps around his throat as tight as they can, until her nails are digging crescent moons into his skin. Her other hand prods fingers into his eyes, and she knows she needs to get deeper if she wants to be successful. After a few seconds, blood leaks out from under both her hands.

He yells in agony as he throws her off him and he growls in rage. The man looks possessed, with blood leaking from his eyes, like tears. She's scared, so it's no surprise that her whole body shakes and her limbs feel like jello. He continuously swipes his knife into the air, slicing the cold and he's grunting with each swing. Her head hits the dirty brown wall and she hisses in pain and she gurgles.

(This one time she's glad her father beats her because she'd surely be dead by now.)

She lurches forward, choking out her blood and wipes her mouth hastily. He can't see her anymore, and she's glad that she has the upper hand for once. Unfortunately, her luck isn't great at all. Her whole body hurts and she knows that she doesn't really have any power. She's so tired and her skin stings from the cold. This figure is weak and small, nothing compared to the man above her.

He stumbles over something next to her and she is finally aware that Lune has not left her side. He doesn't bark or whine, and his panting is not normal. He's in pain. Her heart squeezes painfully in her chest, and she tries to pick him up and save what little she has left. Though she's a coward, so she sits there and she prays to anyone in the universe to help Lune.

* * *

•••

* * *

No one answers her pleas.

She gasps when she sees the knife being brought down on his fur, and a screeching whimper fills the silence. Sakiko isn't able to think anymore, and she's screaming. The man now smirks in glee and brings the knife to her left arm and she doesn't even dodge. The blood gushing from her limb doesn't even register as pain, and her father is the one to thank. Her body is convulsing with resentful anger, and her tantrum has started.

She takes the knife from her arm and she can't breathe. She doesn't process the fact that her hands are plunged in deep within a man's gut, and she doesn't move when the man tumbles on her. All she can focus on is on her little puppy, and how he's yelping and suffering.

She manages to push the corpse off of her and she crawls to the injured animal, and she can't help but quiver in shock. Steadily, she grabs Kenta from the ground and cradles him to her chest. The familiar hum of the lullaby Miss Abaki used to sing to her is gravelly droned and the familiar scent of peaches is breathed in.

When she's done singing, he's too cold to even be clinging to her, too cold to wrap his paws around her arm or bury into her side. He loved to touch her, usually—not in an overly annoying way. It doesn't require any reprimands, because it's his way of letting her know he was there for her. He was alone in the world just like her, and they comforted each other through harshest of times. But it's so cold now, so dark, wind rushing through the gaps between the barred alley and the brick wall and under cement floor. His head is barely even facing hers and he's stiff and barren. In the light he died for her. In the shadows, he was only trying to live.

In the end though, they were all made of flesh that can be cut, and bones that can be broken. Sakiko grits her teeth, ignoring the taste of acidic bile, mixed with something metallic. With a dull and raging voice, she growls manically.

* * *

•••

* * *

He is dead now.

His heart no longer beats. His lungs no longer breathe the air of life. And, her tainted body will never be able to walk in sunlight again. The path where she once hoped she could go, and leave this life of death behind. But it's too late, and now her hands are stained with red.

At an early age, Sakiko is taught that life is precious. That the animals who run through the trees or deserts or snow filled tundras have something to contribute in life. World round grass and rich brown dirt is also important, because they make trees grow. Animals need those, you know.

(Miss Abaki never says anything about humans.)

(She understands why.)

Sakiko falls back into the pillows.

And waits.

* * *

 _It's nostalgic_ , she notices when she sees her father walk through that door.

His painted face and artistic fashion makes her feel as if she's awaken from a long and terrifying dream. None of this is real though, she knows it can't be. These are not her hands. This is neither her face, her skin, or the bones that lay under her stare.

It's as if she's repeating the same, annoying, mantra of being free.

Not that that was an option. Her wrists had been chained to the wall above her head for days now. Arms long gone numb, yet somehow still burning and shoulders alternately screaming in pain or just dully throbbing in sync with her heartbeat.

She'd found herself in that position a lot lately, but never this long. When was the last time she'd had food? Water? It seemed like weeks. She couldn't even remember. There were so many things she couldn't remember, didn't want to. Pale face and golden eyes. A friendly smile, twisted in glee, then came the pain, so much pain.

But now under the lingering taste of shame and defeat, Miss Abaki and he is here which means they can all go back to normal. (Spoiler: They don't. Or rather they can't, because Sakiko has tasted the forbidden fruit and only God can grant her mercy.)

"M-Miss—" Her voice are needles that have constricted in her throat, as if the words are boundless forms of the desert. Her caretaker doesn't even notice and instead her deadened gaze only flickers once. Hisoka ushers her in and they continue to sit in silence. There, they stay like that, until the rumbling in her stomach cannot stop.

"Do you want food?" Hisoka asks with his sultry voice, and the blood that is crushed into her skin begins to itch even more.

Sakiko can't even deny the aching guilt of who was truly at fault for who caused this once beautiful soul to become remnants of herself.

Their relationship had been strained during those last few years, to put it mildly. She supposed it started when Hisoka announced his intention to abdicate Miss Abaki's right to take care of her anymore. Naturally, Sakiko was against it but her father went through with it anyway. And she the faithful daughter had vowed to follow her savior, though, and follow him she did – straight into the fiery damnation where so many bitter memories were buried. Miss Abaki waited for her inevitable doom while Hisoka left to go on another one of his trips.

Somewhere along the way, Hisoka stopped putting his trust in Miss Abaki. Gone were the requests for advice and sly over-the-shoulder grins whenever a prospective dealer made a foolish proposal. The already too rare visits to the hotel room for no other reason than to simply talk also ceased. Hisoka barely even glanced in her direction anymore. This was one of many reasons why he found it necessary to get rid of her.

The red-haired man was no fool; he quickly discovered Miss Abaki's involvement in causing Sakiko's escape and was beyond livid.

This would be one of many mistakes that would haunt Sakiko for years.

* * *

I hate this chapter. I don't even know why it just makes me annoyed and it sounds boring. People say it's because you keep reediting and already know what's going to happen, but I feel as if something's off and that's why my writer's block is getting worse. Anyway that does not mean I'll stop writing this story. Lmao I kept seeing posts on ' _Keep writing even if it's bad it's still something_ ', or 'W _riter's block isn't a thing, procrastination_ is!' So I took it as a sign and wrote this little chapter up. We'll make it through the end, I know we will.

Also, with this chapter, I kind of did something that was part of the reason why I didn't particularly like that was making it so annoying to write: I killed off a character I just introduced into the story. Now, Lune is a good dog that could've been a lifeline for Sakiko if he had just continued living side by side with her. However, then she would have never come back to Hisoka and forget all the hardships she's went through because she is just a child by this point. Which means she'd become someone else and unfortunately I don't want her to go down the happy-we-made-it! path.

I can't stress how much I want her to learn so much about life in just a few years in order to actually do something differently when she interacts with other important characters that will be introduced in the future.

Okay, so now I got that out of the way, I want to talk about how Hisoka's personality and overall actions will influence Sakiko. He is the only one who has the power to mold her into a person because he is her father. Just by that relationship and how he treats her could change her entire mindset. So, when I say time and time again, that she will become just like her father, I am not bluffing.

She despises the fact that these memories of her past lives have made her act more mature and at the same time she still keeps up that childish persona. Why do you think that she's even alive right now? It's because of her early on-set genius that he saw potential and decided to spare her instead of killing her right when he found her in his hotel room where her mother left her. Yes, it's true. When she realizes that, who knows what'll happen? ;)


	5. sanity

Summary: young little girls aren't supposed know so much of the wicked, and yet she was never a young little girl to begin with.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Yoshihiro Togashi except for my oc, Sakiko.

* * *

v.

正気

sanity

* * *

They say the world is a cruel place.

But it's really the people at fault for creating destructive ideas. We are the reason why happiness is rare and life is harsh. At least this is what Miss Abaki says about the outside.

"It's because people like him exist that we can never truly have a good society," The woman says monotone, a voice deadened almost scarily so, "Sad. Pity you're his daughter. Inherited genes for someone so sweet, that's sad."

"What's sad?"

Her laugh is cold and forced, but the never ending look in her eyes overwhelms any possible way to lighten the mood. Her hands tremble and the smile is beginning to turn into something like her father's. In the small little room, she whispers—will you become like him?

It is an unanswered question.

( _The word is a cruel place, we all know it_ , the voices grin manically.)

* * *

•••

* * *

A card through her heart.

The sound of it slitting her heart is loud. (—and it will echo in her mind for longer than she imagines.)

The pierce of the cursed card sounds more like boots squishing into a mud-puddle, followed by Miss Abaki collapsing.

Thud.

And then Sakiko's sight flashes to a shade of merlot.

The girl sinks to the ground. Her head cracks on the floor. She strains to look, and through hazy eyes and a cracked lens, she sees her father smiling at the scene, letting out a bloodcurdling laugh.

Miss Abaki doesn't yell, shriek or gasp as she dies; she simply grits her teeth.

Insane, he's insane, Sakiko thinks and she feels like she's having a nightmare.

She never paid any attention to it up until now, this is the first time he killed a woman in front of her eyes. He titters maniacally and looks up at her smirking in victory as he licks the blood off a playing card and places it back on his deck. She's terrified, her father just murdered Miss Abaki.

Hisoka peers over to her direction, confused by her reaction. She doesn't know why, because she never gave it a second thought when he told her about the brutal killing spree he had the other day. But to see the horror in front of her eyes, it was too much. And it was Miss Abaki, her Abaki. Then, he giggles uncontrollably, "That's right, this is the first time you've actually seen me kill someone, isn't it?"

This world is cruel and she has never wanted it. She wants to gag, wants to stumble back in something like shock or disgust or fear. A part of her feels so, so dirty, with his blood smeared across her skin and his breath still feeling warm against her neck and she suddenly isn't sure if she's ever felt like this before.

"Why!?" Sakiko whimpers as tears drop from her lashes. Miss Abaki lays there, lifeless eyes staring at her directly. Intestines spewed out from underneath the carcass, and organs placed out neatly. Stomach is bleeding profusely, and the floor is painted with so much red. Blood.

It makes her feel something. (Desire.)

 _You disgust me._

"That babysitter was getting annoying," he explains mercilessly, "She kept speaking nonsense about—oh it doesn't matter now. That girl should've known when to keep her mouth shut."

"She was my—!" She gasps at the sheer envy in his eyes. Ice—icy serpent eyes that house her father. Hisoka's a monster that does not belong in this world, but he's carved and killed his way to survival.

(He doesn't need to kill anymore, but he can't quite stop.)

 _Laughter._

"How could you do this, over greed! She stayed even when she saw you murder people in cold blood, because she loved us! She was my only friend—"

Breathing in slowly, he unfazed by her reaction. Slowly sauntering over to her, a tiger prowling towards his prey, she shudders in vain. It is obvious that the monster was displeased.

"Now, now Little Miss, you do know that she was never going to actually stay with us, right?" He kneeled down in front of her, holding her shoulder with one arm, "It's a wonder how I let her live this long."

 _You have such an ugly heart._

Her expression turns sour at his response, "She loved me. She could have been apart of this family, and be my mother." Stockholm Syndrome was a peculiar thing, because Miss Abaki had really loved her, and somehow, she grew to love the disgusting man before her.

(And Sakiko will forever curse her existence for doing that to her.)

He rolls his eyes at her seething, "Love is such a fickle thing. Sure, she was cute, but I never saw her like that." He smirks evilly, "I never see anyone like that, and neither will you."

 _You're going to become just like your father._

"You're wrong. I'm not like you. I know I'll find love one day, and I am capable of it." She scowled angrily, as tears stung her eyes.

"You'll see~," he grinned knowingly, and pet her head like a puppy, "Who could ever love a girl like you?" His tone is so ferocious that she's cowering and sobbing. Her face is wet and she can't keep her mouth closed, because her wailing will not stop. Drool is spilling and she clamps her lips closed, muffling the whimpers and he stares at her perplexed.

"Why are you crying?" She doesn't answer, so he scans the room. He groans at the gory scene, "We'll have to leave this place immediately. C'mon, let's go, Little Miss."

She doesn't listen to him. She can't move. She can't breathe. She can't live, not when the person she loves is gone. It's like everything has shut down. Everything has changed. And with a final gasp, she whispers an "I hate you" to the depths of her mind.

"I hate you."

Ihateyouihateyouiwishyouweredead—ohgod—

(She's not gone, Sakiko reminds herself. "I'll remember you," she whispers, looking at her corpse.)

It takes all her might not to scream and screech in rage, try not to kill her father. He deserves to die! Didn't he? There are a million ways she can kill him, a thousand ways to torture him—

Abaki's soft exhale echoes in her mind.

"Will you become like him?"

Then there's a hand on her shoulder, and Mr. Time is looking at her with such remorse that it makes her want to rip his eyes out and stab his stupid clock and make him scream bloody—

"I couldn't do anything that would change the outcome in the end, Sakiko." Mr. Time's voice is so soothing this time, a deep a raspy thing that she takes comfort in. He's been quiet these past few days, and now she understands why.

Her irregular breathing gradually slows, her deadened gaze at Abaki hardens. I can't think.

Why does she want to keep seeing red?

Begrudgingly, she trudges on after him quietly, leaving Miss Abaki's beheaded state behind.

He says something else after that, but Sakiko's consciousness was fading. But she sees his lips move to three—no, seven syllables she didn't know her father's tongue could dance to.

 _I did this because I love you_ , he whispers.

* * *

•••

* * *

For some time she's sure they are just dreams of a life she wishes she had but there are glimpses of events and feelings that can't just be from her mind.

Her heart soars in amazement as her crinkled eyes stare into the sun-covered field of flowers. The grass greener than than the massive tress above them, and the blanketed wind brushed against her skin airily so. The goosebumps in her skin rise from the sudden contact, but she relishes in the tickling sensation and closes her eyes to hear the chirping birds and the swaying of plants. It somehow feels soft with all the scenery that embodied nature in its purest form. Her chest vibrates with excitement and she can't help but laugh. But this so called dream ends so quickly, and the bottomless pit in her stomach returns.

When Sakiko wakes up, her silent cries sway her chest into a frenzy. The thumping of her heart stings, and her hand clutching the blankets do nothing but worsen the effects. It's not as if this hasn't happened before, but Miss Abaki was always there, and now she's gone. There's no one here to tickle her back to sleep and sing a lullaby.

She doesn't talk to Hisoka in weeks. She can't ever look at him the same way she used to, with undeniable admiration and determination. He was everything to her, and so was Miss Abaki. They were supposed to become a family, but what is a family when it's all dead and gone?

When she finally does talk to him, it's not all grand and vengeful. It's monotone and bland, nothing but sadness laced in her tone. She can't accept the fact that he's killed her caregiver for such a simple reason.

The day she speaks to him, it's when Hisoka is roaming the hallways until he reaches their room. He stares at her happily and enters the room without thinking twice. Her face becomes red with rage and starts to shake quietly as he reaches for a lock of her hair.

"Are you okay? You seem unwell-"

"You killed the only person I've ever loved. You killed my mother-"

He throws a little flower at her harmlessly. She catches it between her fingertips and inspects the beauty. They had deep red petals adorned with spider legs facing upwards. "She was not your mother."

The warning in his voice chokes her questions down and she swallows hard. Minutes pass as the tense silence adheres tenfold, and retched grin plastered on his face wants her to say something.

"It's a Red Spider Lily," They were scientifically known as Lycoris Radiata, and normally flower red before the leaves fully appear, umbel-shaped. She read about it in her stolen books once, but they were a wonderful sight for sore eyes.

"Really? I've always thought it was a Red Magic Lily." He nods and leans against the door frame, "Known for its symbolism of the beginning of fall, and surprisingly, the dead." And it does fit him perfectly. He's the personification of the devil and he uses red magic. The absence of sound resonates in the room and both family members wait for the conversation to go somewhere.

"...Father?" A disinterested hum rolls from his throat in response. Sakiko quietly prepares herself for the next question. "Is my mother alive?"

She thinks it really is a simple question, since a lot of people in the world only have one parent. However she still feels apprehension and slight fear of the answer. It's also because her father is not like every other parent.

At first, he does not answer. Instead, he looks back at his daughter with a blank face that she can't decipher. The little girl stares right back at him with no hesitation. She is searching for something in the man's eyes. Sadness, guilt-maybe even happiness. But there is nothing.

Then suddenly, he dives for the bed, his face muffled on the sheets. "Aren't I enough for you?" He asked childishly while she immediately slumps.

She quickly retaliates with the words "yes!" And huffs in annoyance, a strange thing to do after weeks of feeling numb. "It's not like I want to meet her. I just wanted to know."

He smirks and sits up, facing the window with his eye closed. He always does that sort of thing when he is thinking. She hates that. Maybe this is just his way of saying that she should stop pestering him about her mother. So Sakiko stands up swiftly and begins to head towards the door—

"Yes, I suppose you got that curiosity from her." He replies with a obnoxiously thoughtful expression. "I guess that just means you really are her daughter, Little Miss~"

Her head snaps in his direction as her body stills, muscles tense. Is he really going to tell her now?, she questions mutely. Her prayers are answered when he stares as if to tell her to sit down and listen. She does as told.

A few seconds passes before he continues, "We met one night when she tried to kill me. She was an assassin hired by an old acquaintance," he rolled his eyes in exasperation. "And she had been watching me for a week without my notice. She was going to murder me while I was taking a shower. I could of killed her then if I wanted to, but I didn't. So you can guess what happened next."

Sakiko sours and blanches at his uncensored words and tries not imagine what happened.

"Apparently, she was part of rare clan that was going extinct. All I know is that their eyes turn scarlet only when they're experience deep emotions. However, she somehow inherited the mutation in her eyes where it will always be scarlet, as if she is always experiencing deep emotions. Just like yours." He gazed at Sakiko amusingly.

"She was isolated because of that, and was found by an organization for girls like her. I don't know much other than that. But she turned out to be pregnant and after giving birth to you, she was gone because wasn't able to ensure your survival from whom she worked for." The silence is tense and she regrets asking in the first place.

"Ah, did you kill her too?" She asks coldly, with anger lacing her tone. But he gives her a warning look and she relents.

"No, I did not get the chance... I want you to understand that I didn't know I would end Abaki's life so suddenly,"

"You didn't know?! Y-you are heartless. There was no reason for you to kill her. Why... you murdered her in cold blood!"

"Well if you really want to know~

"It was a mercy killing.

"I'm not sure if you noticed, but in her last days, she could no longer live knowing that her liberation would only end in death. She was sick of the way she was caged with you, no escape to the endless torture of solitude. I guess she never was fit to bare the crazy like we can."

(Abaki's hands tremble and the smile is beginning to turn into something like her father's. In the small little room, she whispers—will you become like him?)

"No. That doesn't even... No, No—this just can't... There is no way that she would want that. Miss Abaki wouldn't... she would never leave me behind to suffer alone. You're lying."

"How could have possibly known what she was feeling? You are only 5 years old, there's no chance that you'd actually understand her reasoning. But look here I'll tell you—

(And all the pent up guilt and nightmares had come true from just those four words.)

"It was your fault."

(Your fault. It's all because you existed.

Scum. Sakiko, you are—)

"It's my fault?"

(disgusting.)

* * *

•••

* * *

Silence welcomes itself in open arms to the room.

"Did you care about them—Miss Abaki and my mother I mean?" She doesn't say love, because her father doesn't know how to love. But it's not like she is any different.

(You wonder what happened to that boy, Sakiko? The voices gleam.)

"I guess I could have, I don't really know. I've never cared about anything except power." He mutters tiredly and lies down. Then, he smiles creepily, "It really fascinates me, did you know?"

(The boy with blue locks and bright eyes who ate peaches and played with cards despite not knowing how to—died along time ago. A demon was born instead.)

Laughter rings in the air as she shuts the door behind her. This is when she realizes that she's never had her father as her own. They aren't one unit. He doesn't need her. And she doesn't need him. But it still hurts.

(You are a demon in waiting too, Sakiko.)

—

LMFAO YOOO I TOTALLY FORGOT ABOUT MR. TIME BECAUSE SOMEONE WAS ASKING WHO TF HE WAS. HELL EVEN I DON'T KNOW.


	6. sacred

Summary: young little girls aren't supposed know so much of the wicked, and yet she was never a young little girl to begin with.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Yoshihiro Togashi except for my oc, Sakiko.

* * *

vi.

神聖

sacred

* * *

She sees him before she hears him. A beast in the guise of a human, a man slickened with corruption. The moment he appears, she can feel her whole body tense. There's no one else, they're very much alone and they're both aware of it. The knife she used to kill that man is hidden in the pocket of her shorts but she knows that the moment she makes her move, her hand will be cut off.

So she stays very still, bides her time and waits.

He's relaxed. Almost unbearably so—probably relishing in the fact that right then and there, she is helpless. Vulnerable. His piercing yellow eyes, like a hungry predator glint with anticipation. Her body moves on it's own, shaking at the sight of the evil incarnate before her, the demon of all peril and mass destruction. It burns her, the willing to move as far away as possible. But she bides her time, waiting for the right moment, for him to get a little closer and—

Suddenly, he's there. Moving too fast for her human eyes to see. His pale hand on her neck, pushing her against the cement wall, the other wrapped tightly around her knife. He pries her fingers off the handle.

"How naive," his voice low, taunting, almost scolding in tone.

Sakiko musters the courage to smile in return, "You can't blame me for trying."

But even she can't disguise the tremble in her voice. She's faltering. He now has her weapon and her only means of defeating him.

Her father's mouth parts, showing white pointed teeth, and he leans down towards her. His hand tightens around her neck, wanting her to resist. It's what he wants, and what she'll give him. Bringing her fist up fiercely, she makes sure it hurts. If he was human, he would have jumped back, howling. Instead, his eyes simply widen and he momentarily stops his pursuit of her blood. Almost as if he is shocked, he stares down at her in something akin to wonder.

"Do you want to fight? I want to see how much you've grown." It's not a question. He's teeth are barely showing but their bared and suddenly something in her snaps.

"No. I'm not going to fight you," she replies begrudgingly, resisting the urge to cower in fear.

A pause.

Then, he erupts into laughter. Moving his hand from her throat to the wall so that she is still caged. She looks at him in astonishment – never before had she seen him so free, so blissful. He holds his hand over his mouth and in between hearty laughs, he manages to say, "You try so hard be a pacifist even when it goes against your instincts, do you know that?"

"I just think I'm weak."

It's not a good answer. As soon as she says that, the tense atmosphere deepens and his killing intent hits her and she can't breathe. She's only ever experienced a small portion of it because it was never directed at her. But now she falls to the ground in a heap and she can't look in his eyes so she keeps her head on the ground. He bites his lip, seemingly deep in thought for once. Then he lowers his head to her ear and whispers very carefully, "You've disappointed me."

He looks down at her, then, with a mixture of pity and disdain on his face. Sakiko's a timid girl, afraid to act out against her father, but right now she wants to bare her teeth and growl. Nobody did this to her. She failed to live up to her father's expectations. It's on her. It's her fault. She doesn't need someone to look down on her for something she did to herself. Sakiko wants to snarl but she's a good girl and good girls don't snarl so she stays quiet and unmoving. Hisoka gives her one last look.

"When you wake up, you will find yourself in the land far away. Maybe things could have been different. That's quite upsetting."

"Meteor City." Her mouth trembles as her pupils become tiny saucers, "You can't do that. I won't let you do that."

It's a nasty, nasty place.

Meteor City is a stale place full of so much things that makes Sakiko is reluctantly curious. There are drab shacks that house more than it should hold. With unfurnished rooms that have dirty peeling walls, and small holes that act like windows to peer out to the endless amounts of trash. It is essentially a landfill that still is able to main in livable conditions. This is the story that Hisoka likes to tell her.

The wells have no drainage, meaning that the area is a swamp and the water tastes rotten. When Hisoka came back with a bottle of their water as a gift, Sakiko is ashamed that the first time she drank it, she uncontrollably gagged and vomited on the floor. He smiled.

She doesn't know how Hisoka has knowledge of this place, but learns that most of the children in that land of garbage have never seen the world outside their perimeters. So in a way, she can relate to their situation to an extent. But when she hears about them chasing one another, staring at their shoeless feet slinging in the mud, she feels empty. They run around all day, making up games seemingly out of nowhere, ignoring the stench of feces and urine that permanently thickens the air. Hisoka says it gets better once you get used to the rancid scent, but she doesn't feel that would accommodate her to Meteor City at all.

She's heard somewhere that parents tell their children about the inescapable monsters that lurk for the ones that don't listen to their parents. Sakiko thinks that this story was similar to that one, but not really. Her father's the monster she cannot escape from.

Sakiko has only ever left her father for about half a year, and even that was not really true since Hisoka liked to find her and then hit her until she felt nothing. Empty. She hates feeling like that, but then it starts getting easier once she's lost Miss Abaki. When she looks back at Hisoka, he grimaces, as if he can read her thoughts and for the first time she can finally see something other than anger and false happiness. It's gone as soon as it comes. Sakiko thinks that maybe he would look prettier if he wasn't so bloodthirsty. Maybe.

"Then I want you to do something very important to prove your worth." His voice startles her for a second, but then she glares at him, the temporary calm gone and squashed into the ground like a bug.

He grins.

"You will kill _everyone."_

He grabs hold of her face and brings her to him. Muffling her gasp of surprise with his fist, pressing into her cheek and her body is like a rag doll and she's on the other side of the forest. Her father—Hisoka—his name enters her mind involuntarily, obtrusively, carving itself into her soul like a knife, takes her body and punches her stomach with ease.

She grabs his thigh and uses the momentum to twist her body and propel her right leg to kick him into oblivion. But she feels his arm wrap around her hip, causing her to be pulled forcefully towards his body. He's going to grab her head and push it to the ground but she's two steps ahead and his neck is right in front of her—nails dig into his throat and he's groaning in ecstasy. It's as if she is drowning. Thinking doesn't come naturally to her in that moment. All she wants to do is kill him in this sinful act of murder. Miss Abaki would be disgusted if she saw her. The thought of her brings her back to reality.

She pushes away, breathing heavily, watching him with heavily lidded eyes. His hair is in disarray, eyes tainted with primal desire, it's alarming to see the monstrous killer inside of him. He looks inhuman. She realizes with a start that she had been fighting him back. Hisoka brings the hand that had been holding her so intimately to his mouth, tearing bits of skin off with his teeth.

"Do you understand what I'm offering you?" He asks, voice rough. Blood, her blood, drips from the wound he has made. It flows, crimson elixir, iron in scent. It stings but the thought of living in hell hurts even more. Sakiko shakes her head in agony and pulls her hand away but the attempt is fruitless and she's dislocated her wrist. He's pummeling her now, and he's waiting for her to—

NO, NO, NO—

"The chance to atone your sins."

* * *

•••

* * *

Once, Sakiko dreamed about a boy with black hair in a land far away, but it wasn't like Meteor City. It was full of water all around, with animals, fruits, flowers, and so much green. Trees, as big as houses surrounded the entire island, and when the sun's golden rays touched the green, the leaves would filter it's shimmering glow, and the light could finally dance on the ground. It made her heart flutter knowing that there was something more out there, of happiness being with someone most of the time and having freedom to be whoever you wanted. Sakiko wanted that. She was not going to have it

A boy—a lot bigger than her—ran so fast that the wind seemed to pick up after him, making the leaves _woosh_ and crinkle even more than normal. A boy with black hair and eyes of gold, a smile so big that it made her chest twist at how right it felt to be with this strange child. He giggled and then promptly caught himself barely after tripping over a rock, prompting more giggles to consume him. Wild child. A happy child, having the time of his life in a green happy land. She hates the envy she feels in her stomach, but she's smiling at him and then he looks back, straight at her face, her heart stopping at his staight gaze at _her—_

"Saki-chan!"

 _It's Sakiko, you idiot._ That's what she wants to say, but instead for some reason she laughs and holds out her hand to him. He grabs her as quickly as he can and pulls and pulls, and then she starts running with him, through the glowing crazy, stupid, (maybe even a little bit beautiful) mess that is the forest.

They don't stop to catch their breaths for a long time. Not even when they're gasping for air and can't seem to stop themselves from laughing at how silly they feel. Her heart is pounding and her eyes are stinging from how fast they're going, but they don't stop, not until they reach the edgle of a cliff, looking at the blue waves below them. They crash and make a swishing noise like the trees, but even louder, and it makes her feel _so_ happy.

It looks clear and clean, like how Sakiko's mind feels right now. The voices in her head were always there, constantly making her feel bad things until she cried, and showed her how to be mean to the world. They say it's because the world will always be mean to her, but right now, with this golden-eyed boy, she thinks, _maybe it's not so bad_.

The voices don't answer for once, and she knows that as long as she's here, in the happy green forest with this black-haired wild child, they never will. She can think now. Sakiko can finally _breathe._

"Saki-chan..." The voice next to her sounds surprised, maybe a little confused too. When she looks, she can see him so clearly now that he's a few inches away from her. From up close she can see the green tips of his pointed hair faintly growing, a reminder of how much older he was than her. But then, why is his height the same as hers? His face looks so carefree and relaxed, even when it's scrunched up like he's thinking real hard about something serious. She doesn't say anything for a while, despite wanting to badly. And suddenly he touches her face with both of his hands.

She gasps at the contact and tries to pull away, but then he wipes her cheeks with his thumbs and whispers out a question of why she was crying. She's crying? The tears from her eyes don't stop, only filling up faster at his concern. Barely, she registers her mumbling out an apology, but it's mostly garbled and incoherent. The only thing they both understand is what she says. The phrase, it's so simple and yet it seems it's taken her a while to say. She can tell, by how shocked both of them are by her words. Maybe this is what Mr. Time was talking about. How she can see things other people can't.

This time this dream isn't about Hisoka's or Miss Abaki's past.

She's seeing her own future.

(" _I love you.")_

That morning, when Sakiko wakes up, she doesn't feel bad at all.

* * *

AY WHAT'S UP FRIENDS?! How are all of you?

I hope you all feel better now that I've given you some good ol' fluff at the end of this chapter. It is a sneak-peek of what is yet to come. Annnnd no, I am not sure who will be paired up with Sakiko, who knows? (I have a pretty good idea.) But I am truly open to whatever the comments sway to, so don't hesitate to ask me what you think for a future future pairing (:

Anyway, I feel like writing angst is my absolute forte, as my real life is obviously (sarcasm) filled with same amount of sorrow and self-hatred as my characters. Ah, woe is me.

But I feel like writing fluff is so fun and it makes me feel so happppyy inside. Honestly. (Still a little dead inside though.)

I hope you all have a good month because it's gonna take me a lot longer to update.

 **A quick poll:** What's your favorite color and why? How does it make you feel?

My favorite color used to be just turquoise (sea blue color) but then I started liking other colors because they make me feel fuzzy. I guess I really can't choose between the rainbow [unless it involves brown. Yuck. But it wouldn't be so yucky if it was YOUR favorite :) .]

— Sister Maleine oUt


	7. slaughter

Summary: young little girls aren't supposed know so much of the wicked, and yet she was never a young little girl to begin with.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Yoshihiro Togashi except for my oc, Sakiko.

* * *

vi.

屠殺

slaughter

* * *

The rain dips in heavy droplets, soaking her small figure as she runs. Her shoes skid on the ground and she almost trips over her wet laces but continues onward relentlessly. The shabby buildings she passes without a second glance are empty and lifeless. Not a single window is illuminated with the yellowish light she has come to associate with cheap electrical bulbs. The street is deserted and a tiny sense of relief fills her at the discovery but it is all too soon blotted out by the familiar dread.

She sees the soft glow of old, yellowed bulbs reflected on the bricks at the end of the alleyway and her feet momentarily stutter in their rhythm, pausing. Much later she will curse her weakness, the hesitation in her mind that began at her first time and grows larger and larger with each bullet fired until eventually she really does pause at the trigger. Her doubt here and now will cost her life in some distant future but at four years old, running through the rain with soaking hair and a gun concealed in her pocket, she does not care. She does not realise the amount of pain her hesitation will cause.

She comes to halt at the end of the street, this time her stop decisive and planned rather than hesitant. It was decided long ago that she must pause here and watch from behind the safety of the thick stone wall, waiting for the moment of opportunity to present itself. Her mind travels back to an afternoon weeks ago in a hotel room filled with bright light and flowery curtains. It was Miss Abaki's and her somewhat secret hide-a-way, not much of a success seeing as the entire floor knew of their presence.

The important thing is that no one will disturb them there as they are too terrified.

But now her caregiver will not poke her pretty little head around the door and ask her what she is doing. She'll no longer hug her or tickle-rub her back when her father leaves for whoever knows how long. She's dead.

Now, standing in the dark street chilled to the bone as another icy gust of wind drives through her Sakiko is reminded of the question that led her to be here, huddling against a wall with fingers fumbling to open her jacket pocket and pull out the revolver.

 _"Stop being a brat," Hisoka's eyes are leaned away without empathy and remorse, "Don't you want to make me proud, Little Miss?"_

 _Her answer is a moment too late in coming, her pause a little too long but her voice is strong and proud, "Yes." But she's trembling in fear of the outcome if she had said no._

 _His eyes glimmer in satisfaction but there is something more evil and corrupt behind the curve of his lips, and finally, he opens his mouth._

 _"Kill all the people who inhabit this town."_

The voices from the pub drift over to her as the door is thrown open, a few drunks stumbling into the street. Their hunched figures are immediately blotted out by the blackness, the night claiming her prey all too easily. If only her own prey would hurry up, she cannot help but think as she nervously fingers the knife in her pocket.

Every moment longer she has to stand out here means one more moment in which she is caught; her dread-ridden brain manages to convince herself. Her jitters are from the cold, not the guilt she already feels weighing down on her. She wants to leave so that she will not be recognized, not because she doesn't want to do this. But she doesn't have a choice in the first place.

The rain is coming down ever harder and she wonders if he will ever show. As if drawn out by her futile, fervent wish a figure steps through the thick oak doors and out into the street. She glances around, checking one last time that everything is perfect. The street is just as empty as it was before, the drunks having all stumbled home to angry wives and dirty bedding. She can understand why they wash away their sorrows in cheap beer, but she also knows what kind of nasty bacteria can breed in a vat of alcohol. She wouldn't touch the stuff even if someone paid her.

The sharp knives her father gave her is tucked neatly in her pants, and she hates to touch it. But each of them fit perfectly into her hand and her finger falls, quite naturally, on the edge steel of the weapon. It is as if the instrument has been molded specifically for her usage.

She presses ever closer to the wall, the flap of her pocket pulled up as she removes the knife. Her subject is standing in just the right place, having come to stop a number of feet away from the noisy pub and light a cigarette.

The night has swallowed up half of his face, the other part illuminated by the glow spilling from inside the building. She raises the knife, quite proud that her fingers do not shake as she takes aim and flings it to his chest.

It completely misses him.

She can feel the doubt and panic building in the back of her mind, having grown stronger ever since she left over an hour ago. The man's gasp rings out and instinctively she whirls, clutching another knife to her chest and pressing her back against the wall in fear that someone might have seen her. She counts to ten and peers around the corner, not knowing what to expect.

The man is struggling to his feet—apparently her 'kill shot' was more of a 'scare away shot'. She strikes just as he had pulled himself up again, about to call for help. She cannot let others get involved – her aim is hardly perfect and she doesn't have the bullets to waste on a second or third person.

His shoulder is stained red and he swears and swears as he fingers the damage carefully. Her lips pull up into a grin as she recognizes a few of his more colorful words, storing them away for later use.

Another knife hits his leg, bringing him down again. At this point, she isn't trying to kill him, more experimenting.

Stepping out from behind the safety of her wall, she keeps her back pressed firmly against the stone as she inches forwards, eager to get a closer look. His eyes are shut and he is on his back, hyperventilating. He looks in her direction and her body freezes as he looks into her eyes. Unadulterated fear and agony surfaces from his blue eyes, and she chokes on what little confidence she has left.

He gurgles out incoherently with a slight raise of his voice, but Sakiko can make out the words, "You don't have to do this!"

 _She involuntarily shivers in shock as she heard Hisoka finish his sentence, and her heart hammers too slow and to hard to function properly. She breathes out in a shrill tone, "Don't say that, please don't make me do this. I don't want to do this."_

 _He giggles—his face is contorted and his bloodshot eyes and twisted open mouth do nothing to hide the amount of insanity oozing from his body. She shrinks and places her head to the ground, frozen by the malevolent feeling he emits._

 _"Oh Little Miss, you know what'll happen if you refuse me~."_

She lowers her knife momentarily, stunned by his words, as if she had a choice. She's never heard anyone speak to her like that since Miss Abaki, and for a split-second, she hesitates. Though not a second later does she yell hysterically, "You wouldn't understand, I have to kill you!"

Tears begin to drop from her lashes, and the man tries to crawl backwards, as if that would do him any good. Brokenly, she strangles out something, an explanation of sorts. She owes him that much. He's a dead man anyway, and she's sure he knows it too.

"Or he'll kill me."

The fourth hits his chest, the fifth following it almost immediately and this time she gets her desired 'kill shot'. He is dead before he can even scream.

She creeps closer with another still pointing at the corpse making sure he is dead. She stares at him, as if in a daze, and accidentally trips over him and her blade slides across from her. She yelps as fear enters her core and she jumps away as if it was scorching hot and grabs the fallen item. She sprints.

She turns around, and finally notices that there is blood streaking down the pavement, running in various lines down the cracks in the cobblestones. She never released that there is quite so much blood. It is a mistake she will not make again. That night, standing in the pouring rain over her first kill and staring into his strange, dim eyes, Sakiko learns many things that will prevent many possible mistakes.

She learns that killing a man isn't as difficult as people always make it out to be—really the act of pulling a knife is easy, almost childishly so. She learns that hiding in the shadows and playing it safe is a good option but when you want to truly scare someone, you have to be adventurous.

After all, it was the blades she flung before leaving into the safety of the darkness that killed him. She learns that intoxicated men never hear the cries and that you don't need to be quick if you're standing next to a pub late at night.

She learns not to be overconfident with her first shot and to always have extra firepower. She learns that water does not wash away blood, whatever anyone else may claim. And perhaps most importantly she learns that Miss Abaki isn't always right. She said that it would be the hardest, most difficult decision in her life, after all.

But she never tells anyone that her first _real_ kill was at four, in her own home town wearing stolen shoes, hiding behind a wall in rain-soaked clothes. She never tells them that it took her four knives to kill her first man. Or that it was her father's fault that she's going to be a mass murderer. If Miss Abaki saw her now, she would be disgusted.

* * *

•••

* * *

She runs far away as she possibly can so no one can suspect her but then the moon illuminates past her in a beautiful light, catching her eye in a window she stands next to. It sketches out her reflection, and she finally sees herself for what she really is.

She sits there in all her glory, covered in the blood of thousands, and she remembers she is nothing but a walking corpse now.

It hurts—this guilt in her chest and the inside of her head slowly melting away. The blazing heat in her eyes grow rapid and within seconds her frame drops in temperature, cold and empty like ice. And ice burns, and it's sucking her from within the caverns of hatred, seeding deeply in her core. It's not something new, but it's different now. it's greater and much more painful.

It's beautiful.

There is so much red—so much blood that dresses her body, so much blood that isn't even her own. It cakes her in a demonic appearance wrought and strung up with withered red, glowing eyes. This wasn't her. This wasn't Sakiko.

The eyes etched into the glass that bored into hers, those couldn't be her eyes. They were dark, wild and devilish, and burning her sins into her soul with a dreadful ache in her body. They sent shivers down her arms and pulled the air from her lungs to rapid breathing. It toppled her vision into dizziness and panic into her bones. And her mouth is curved upwards in a horrific grin. It feels good. Everything feels nice.

 _It's nothing personal_ , she whispers to herself, and suddenly she doesn't care anymore. It doesn't matter. Nobody in this life even exists. None of this matters. Her face splits open wide, showing all the pent up mania again and she's—I'm—we're laughing.

(Here, in this life, rules and justice do not exist. Magic and power do).

—  
The person who left a review in all lowercase asking me to not stop updating this story with such a polite tone made me want to fucking cry. Thank you, and sorry to everyone who have been waiting literal MONTHS. Hope y'all have a good thanksgiving AND happy holidays- if you want, tell me what you're grateful for and what you got for your holiday. I'm thankful to have people actually want to read my story. :) AND I GOT A NEW LAPTOP SO I CAN ACTUALLY TYPE MY STORIES NOW AND NOT WRITE THEM ON MY PHONE PERIODICALLY AND GIVE UP!

I did place multiple hints indicating that she developed a type of schizoaffective disorder. If you don't know what that is symptoms usually include delusions, hallucinations, depressed episodes, and manic periods of high energy. The belief that an ordinary event has special and personal meaning, delusion, thought disorder, racing thoughts are also other characteristics involved with this disorder. (If you want to know more, look it up for yourself).

So I know it may seem confusing as to why Sakiko is reacting the way she is, but she's never known an environment of security except with Miss Abaki, but she hasn't seen her in several months. The sadomasochistic genes she gets from her father don't help her case AT ALL either. This and the fact that her father is threatening her loved ones also cause her to fully develop this disorder at such a young age.

Lowkey I pulled a Harry Potter quote on y'all. I cackled. You rolled your eyes.


	8. substandard

Summary: young little girls aren't supposed know so much of the wicked, and yet she was never a young little girl to begin with.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Yoshihiro Togashi except for my oc, Sakiko.

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v.

正気

sanity

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It takes her a week.

And it's strangely comforting that the silent town, no longer bustles with life. It's misfortunate and direful, sure, but it had something that it did not have before. Sakiko doesn't have to writhe under their repulsed gazes or the quizzical eyes. She smiles joyously around the streets any time she wishes without distress from the evil lurking at night. It's peaceful in a spiteful and bitter way that makes her skin crawl and shiver. They were all evil anyway. Today she's walking along the sidewalk, and though it's pointless now, her morals are still there.

It takes another day for the news to spread around the world like wildfire, and Sakiko is not surprised. It's not everyday that an entire city dies in a span of a week by the hands of one sole person. Although it's true, many believe there is more to the story.

Spotting a convenience store, Sakiko gladly lets herself in without haste. The internet is riddled with feeble condolences to all the dead—of which she scoffs at—and conspiracy theories about aliens or the government being at fault.

But it's mostly about who this one person could be, and all leads point to the one and only family with a very known history in mass-assassinations. The Zoldycks. The fact that they have also made no comment about the remarks finalizes the theory, and many have tried to bring justice to the city's name.

Many die trying.

Sipping the grape juice from the refrigerated aisle is very calming somehow, maybe because it's the first thing she's done after the genocide that she feels kinship to the amount of normalcy it holds. It's entertaining to say the least, that all of them do not suspect the serial killer to be a seven year old girl. Of course many have escaped and fled for refuge elsewhere, but that hardly counts. Only those who stay in this town are dead.

The bell rings as the door creaks open.

Her father has been gone for three weeks but he's returned and she has no doubt that he has caught wind of the massacre. He stares at her in satisfaction but he won't say anything. They are like lifeless stones facing each other, and Sakiko has to blink away the tears forming. She grins. He moves his fingers back and forth, and he's walking away, so she drops the grape juice and follows.

She walks out of the store, head held high, seven years old and already far beyond an ordinary person—and she kills, kills with a passion that only Hisoka matches, and sometimes she looks at him and she's not scared of him so much as she is what she could become—a beast that can no longer sing the tune of humanity.

It doesn't matter if he seems peaceful, if his hands aren't clenched or his eyes aren't narrowed. She can feel it. It's on her like humidity, hot and muggy against her skin. It's like there's a knife pointed at her neck, like she can feel the weight of its sharp blade pushing into her throat. She turns her head a bit to see him. The sunlight drifting over his eyes has the wet dark of them glimmering when it hits. Hisoka's not looking at her. The quiet sharpness to him grates against her like sandpaper and there's something in him.

Sakiko understands him a bit better now.

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•••

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He is waiting for her to tell him something, anything really, to explain the detached but cheerful demeanor she now holds.

Maybe that red magic he uses to kill every single one of his opponents could casts spells. A spell for which he could know what she was thinking, somehow. Maybe he could feel the way she was picturing him with his fingers around her throat; picturing him cutting her open with playing cards all around; picturing him with a hand on her chin, eyes on her like she was a crudely molded sculpture; picturing him killing Miss Abaki and the wreckage she would have to live in afterwards. Maybe he knew that her fear is only rivaled by her hatred, that the girl who looks at him like he's all she has in her grey world isn't real and neither is she. Maybe he could tell.

Maybe the memories were visible in the reflection of her tears. Maybe images were floating through her blurry eyes, playing back like film. Maybe he could see it, could see the ugliness framed in the beauty of her face. Maybe he could see the longing and desire to find him six feet under the molding dirt and to burn his resting place for eternity.

Maybe. Probably not.

There's something about him that feels deceitful to her, dangerous. It's her who's the problem, though—her who looks at him and sees the monster living behind her eyelids. He's just a simple man, much more merciful than the average murderer. It's her who looks at him and lets her mind paint someone else over his face.

But is it? His never ending journey in living in the present and forgetting the past is something they've never shared before. She wants to die so badly, and he wants to live and fight and kill—

Well, they aren't so different are they?  
He's a mirror image of what she is now. His sharp eyes and ominous smile are both qualities she has. Hair dyed red in order to hide the blue tresses they both hold, and yet for what? It should be terrifying to think that she has become like him, maybe even worse. But it doesn't bother her anymore, and even her fake smile doesn't help her.

She watches his face. She's never thought of Hisoka as human. Sakiko never looked at him and saw a soul. At first she saw a nightmare, a myth. Then she saw something real and so much worse. But now he looks the same as her. They're sitting in a field, grass pushing up at her legs, the sun, sweeter now, shimmering down. She always forgets what this town is called, but sometimes it could be nice during the time just between summer and spring. This, here in her hometown with the heat of summer materialized, feels more beautiful to her.

Sakiko drinks in the air, pretends it doesn't taste stale. This is all she has.

The heat on her skin makes her uncomfortably drowsy, the sleepiness making a shroud over her against her will. She doesn't want it, doesn't like it, but suffers the sunlight regardless. She wants melanin to sprout over the the plains of her body, over the expanses of paleness, looking at her skin makes her itch, makes her feel dirty—she wants to peel it off, wants to rub herself raw and get rid of it all. Her hair doesn't get any better. Creamy supple skin and serpent eyes, Sakiko hates and hates this new body.

(But she can't help but love it. She has reached glory from power. A deity of death—a goddess that rules from fear.)

Hisoka taps his foot to her, watching her now. She wants to think it's curiosity in those eyes. Sakiko wants to see something in his eyes other than a stretching coldness, wants to see something boiling there, alive. She's never been able to look in his eyes long enough to check. The way his iris look—dark and little—is too much. She forces herself to look at him, to acknowledge him, but soon has to glance away. "Aren't we going to talk about what you did?"

Sakiko doesn't want to talk about it. It's not her fault, he made her do it. She was going to die. Miss Abaki and Lune were going to die. It's because of him that a little girl has massacred a whole village in one night. It's not her fault—she screams but her voice is soundless. The playful beam she gives him is loud and utterly chilling. He winks back.

"Talk about what?"

He sits closer to her. Hisoka adores secrets. "Don't be coy with me," he impresses upon her again, eyes gleaming and the implication heavy. She only looks at him.

She's too tired—always too tired, too exhausted, everyone is gone and looking at Hisoka hurts—to even be expectant. Her father adores secrets and he loves talking about himself, especially to her. No one in the world wants to talk to him. No one cares how his day has been or what thoughts are held heavy in the space between discovering them and saying them out loud. There had been Miss Abaki, but she's long since been gone in that blood-filled hotel room by the hands of her father. Now there's only Sakiko for that. She watches and feels tired. How did it become so easy to slit a child's throat? And how did she end up like this?

"Oh," Sakiko says. She'd expected her voice to come out small, emptied out, but instead she just sounds peaceful. "That."

Maybe she really is just at peace.

"Yes! That!" His voice turns into a giggling whisper and he leans even closer to her. Hisoka adores secrets but the only one he has to share them with is her. She can't manage to match his enthusiasm. The way he looks at her shows he's too far gone to mind. "I knew there was something—something otherworldly in you. You understand now, don't you?" It's you and I against the world, remember?

"You realize that you're a killer now, right?"

His eyes, his eyes—she looks away. He needs her to say it. A moment passes and it would be so easy to. But she doesn't care anymore, so she won't. Another moment and he does it himself. "You're special," he says, speaking like she imagines a fanatic would sound when reading lines from the bible. "You really are." Hisoka's amazing and awful and looking at her like she's hung starlight in her hair. He's barely an inch away, breath like an itch as it pricks her skin, and she hates him (but Sakiko's never been less sure of anything) so closes her eyes and holds in a sigh.

(The thing inside her swells.)

"You think so?" she eventually says, her voice hoarse and raspy in disarray, "I'm just a killer."  
Then she snickers because it's funny how surprising this all is.

He goes bright at the validation. She feels as though she is decaying, as if all of her has slipped out through her lungs without notice. She wonders what's growing in its place. "Yes. I suppose so. Though I wish you used the knife I gave you. Guns aren't nearly as climactic."

It's enough. He laughs—not a real one, not the kind of laugh cute kitten videos achieve. He laughs the way he did when he took over her world, when he gained control of her every move, when he finally, finally destroyed every last shred of hope she had of being something more than a puppet. He laughs like her. The sound of satisfaction sends a jolt in her body and she remembers that he knew she would never find eternal love. If Sakiko weren't hollow, the noise would've made something inside her break. But she's empty and so only her shell cracks.

"I can't wait to fight you!" he crows, pulling her against him so her face goes on edge of his thigh, nose in the spot where his pants meets the lining of his crotch. She winces as he crouches down to her height so he can properly hug her. "You're still weak," he breathes into her hair, "But I can't wait to kill you." His affection disgusts her.

"Don't worry father," she murmurs, and he brings her closer, holds her tighter. "I'll grow stronger for you."

He chuckles in support but then suddenly as an afterthought, he pats her head and—"Happy Birthday, by the way."

It is February 2, but Sakiko Morow is—not dead, as she never existed at all—someone else, far away, so Sakiko doesn't celebrate. Instead she holds her killer and lets him leave bruises in her shoulder blades from the force of his grip.

You're still weak.  
She's not okay.

—

So... hell on earth, or is it just me?

The world is a crazy place right now, so I thought I'd share a chapter with you guys. I hope y'all are doing well and are safe. Weird how nobody addressed the fact that there's something going on this website but okay.

SO, SAKIKO IS JUST IN HER FEELS RN. SHE'S DECIDING WHETHER OR NOT HISOKA AND HER ARE SIMILAR OR NOT AND DISCUSSES HOW MUCH SHE'S CHANGED. Yet, she still feels weak. That's sad y'all... ;(

On another note, If I said this was the chap that we fast forward to the future... that was a complete lie. I don't know why I switched up on plans but... the universe really do be taking the reins tho...

Anyway, she's an Aquarius~ Don't know anything about that shit but just thought I'd throw that out there. Do what you want with it.

Just know I love you guys and stay tune for the next one!


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